


Sparks Fly

by AndHerFlowers



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Internal Monologue, Julie's POV, Songfic, and use phrases like luminous soul and radiant spirit, but could also read as a oneshot, but mostly - Freeform, i guess a little bit because there are emotions, i just wanted to start posting it and it wasn't finished yet, idk I'll add more tags if I think of them, star crossed lovers type, who needs plot when you can write really long sentences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndHerFlowers/pseuds/AndHerFlowers
Summary: Moments between Luke and Julie, from Julie's point of view. Song used is Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift.
Relationships: Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this because writer's block is a bitch and i can't take on any real projects with like,,,,a story line, but i think it's kinda cute so there you go. feedback as always appreciated, ily

_ The way you move is like a full on rainstorm _

_ And I'm a house of cards _

_ You're the kind of reckless _

_ That should send me running _

_ But I kinda know that I won't get far _

Luke is on stage, and Julie is watching him from afar.

Not really, not physically – physically, she is standing in the center of that very same stage, microphone in hand, tambourine patting against her thigh, letting the pre-chorus of Finally Free flow through her. But at the same time, she’s in the garage, rehearsing with the band; she’s at her school assembly, the pair of them sharing a microphone; she’s in her daydreams, and in all those moments, real and not real, she’s watching him perform, enraptured by his energy, his singing, the way his eyes seem to shine the moment he appears on stage, how sometimes, though she would not let herself admit it, it looks like they’re shining just for _her_.

She knows she’s a good performer herself, has found her sparkle, her drive again, knows how her ponytail tumbles over her shoulders as she turns toward Reggie, singing the harmonies, how her feet jump and her voice soars, up to the ceiling of the bar; she is aware, dimly, of the curly-haired woman standing up, of the people bringing out their phones to record. She knows how, throwing back her head, she hits that high note just right and it feels like flying.

But Luke is different, Luke is … More. The energy he gives off on stage, the pure electricity of passion and joy, the sheer vitality, vivaciousness of it – Luke is like thunder and lightning, like a storm, rain pouring so intensely there is nothing in the world but the fall, the sensation of notes overwhelming every sense; you can’t help your eyes following his movements, your feet carrying you around to the rhythm, your hands and heart straining towards him, out, out, out –

His music is a downpour and you’re lying on the cold asphalt ground, devoured by it.

(He would say the exact same thing about her. He would say she is beguiling, and incredible, a wrecking ball of talent with the voice of an angel. If he is a rainstorm, then she is the sun after it, warm and bright and like a balm to the world. He would say that when she’s on stage, her soul is luminous, her fingers flying over the piano like butterflies, taking off into the bright blue sky, that he cannot take his eyes off of her with the way she loses and finds herself in the melody at the same time; he would say he is just as captivated by her as she is with him, if not more.)

In those loud, vibrant moments between the music, when the whole world seems to be theirs for the taking, dancing and yelling to their singing, their rhythm, their songs, she can almost forget it’s all but a dream, a “hologram”, three phantoms that will disappear the moment they take their bow. She can pretend they’re just kids, doing what they love and being good at it, and when he leans in to her, belting out the chorus, eyes so wild and smile so big she wants to laugh out loud, because she’s so, _so_ happy, _he’s_ making her so, so happy, she is close to convincing herself it’s not even pretend anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

_ And you stood there in front of me _

_ Just close enough to touch _

_ Close enough to hope you couldn't see _

_ What I was thinking of _

It’s foolish, childish optimism, the way her heart skips a beat or ten, when his fingers reach for hers, timidly, carefully, because a fragile thing like hope is so easily broken. It seems, for a second, that their hands will fit, and she can almost feel the warmth, the callouses, can imagine how her fingertips would graze the rough surface, how his thumb would fold snugly over her palm, a promise and an anchor knotted in one.

She blinks, and his hand has passed through hers; she can’t help her chest collapsing, _foolish, foolish girl_ , she tells herself, _what did you expect?_ There is no love for girls that chase the wind, no skin caressed by the hands of a boy with green, green eyes, no promises of tomorrow, because his tomorrow has come and gone, wasted away in a dark room, and hers has withered in a year of silence.

But it was alright, she told herself, because Luke smiled faintly, _This is an interest little relationship you and I have_ , and her chest filled with butterflies, because he was right; it mattered, of course it mattered, the empty space next to her palm, next to her heart, but it didn’t matter enough to change a thing, didn’t matter enough to let despair once again take over. She knew what she was getting into, knew there was nothing to be won in this desperate game, and yet, she clung on, braved on, because of all the other things, the other things they _did_ have, like songs and smiles and green, green eyes and stolen glances across the garage, and all of that would have to matter more, would have to be enough. 

Julie was convinced he could hear her beating heart, convinced, too, that she could have heard his if he were still alive, the heart still beating. They were close, so close – but not _too_ close. Just enough, just right, leaning on the porch rail, all the things unsaid filling the evening air. They would be out once, she promised herself, the things, the words, the feelings. But today, they could pretend, if only for a moment. Today, they stood, smelling the elder tree, breathing it in in sync; tomorrow – well, tomorrow, she would see if their hands get any closer to touching.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so this one got kind of out of control

_ Drop everything now _

_ Meet me in the pouring rain _

_ Kiss me on the sidewalk _

_ Take away the pain _

_ 'Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile _

Fat drops are clattering on the roof, on the windows, on her pillowcase; a lace of rain, strung from the sky, a chain of tears, pearling between her lashes.

It’s one of those days, one of the bad ones; where the void is not only heavy, but spreading, sucking in all around itself, the joy, the air, until there’s no oxygen left to breathe. Like a flame, licking her insides, mocking her – hurt where there should be warmth, suffocation where there should be light.

It’s been over a year, and yet, sometimes Julie feels like she’s gone back in time, back to that first month After; when she had cried herself dry over and over already, when she, her body had nothing left to give, when her mind was exhausted from the headaches and the missing, _missing_ , so there was nothing left to do but lay in the dark, under the covers, staring, staring, into the nothingness.

In those moments that turned into hours that turned into days, she felt … Not _empty_ , but dull. As if someone carved her insides out and filled her ribcage with cotton balls. The black hole that opened in her chest, where her heart had once been nested, threatened to devour her soul in full, and then her room until there wasn’t anything but charred purple walls left, the house filled with smoke. It was a new kind of hell, and the word “depression” did not quite feel enough for how she felt, or rather, didn’t feel.

Her dad would come in a lot those first few months; he’d light a cinnamon-scented candle on her nightstand, hold her in his arms, until the sensation combined with the smell were too much and the dam broke – no, not broke, shattered, into a million, million rocks – and she would sob, uncontrollably, urgently, almost screaming out the tears, until the cotton balls spilled out and for a few blinks of an eye, she could breathe again, fill her lungs with nothing but sweet air.

Oftentimes, Carlos would lie next to the remains of his family in his sister’s bed, crying, too. Hold Julie’s hand with his own, smaller one; bury his head into her stomach. He found it easier to cry, they noticed.

But as time went on, same seemed to go for the world. Julie would come downstairs, half a year after, and see Carlos chuckling at Ray making waffles, and she’d feel out of place, like a person screaming in a church, so painfully obvious that they don’t belong, only clouding the eyes of other, happier people, only bringing the rainstorm inside, so nobody could escape.

Dr. Turner talked to her about it, patiently, carefully, as she did with all things regarding Julie. She’d tell her that her feelings were valid, and understandable, that her people grieve in different ways, on different timelines, that herself as well as Julie’s family are always there for her, willing to talk, willing to help. The thing was, Julie knew all of that; she knew her dad would want her to talk to him, Carlos make her feel better. She knew, but she also thought about the shadows under Ray’s eyes, how self-conscious her little brother’s laughter sounded, on the rare occasions he let it escape his lips.

She thought about all of that, and how maybe, it would be easier for them all to not ruin the fragile balance finally formed in the Molina household.

Flynn was great, the best friend she could have asked for, a listener, a comforter, a joker, but she didn’t utterly understand. Julie didn’t want her to, didn’t wish that kind of pain upon her friend, but it meant she could only do so much, only guess so far what Julie needed. Sometimes, as much as she tried, it simply wasn’t enough.

So instead, she started writing again, telling herself they weren’t lyrics, only thoughts, scattered words to get out on paper, in order to relieve a bit of pressure off her chest.

It helped, more than she imagined it would. Her pain, flowing through the tip of the pen, ink drying in sync with tears; the moment stored away in a box, understanding at last what was going on inside her mind, locked in the dark as to stop the haunting.

Of course, the thing that made the most difference, that finally felt like healing, was music.

Singing a song her mom wrote for her, fingertips grazing the cold keys of her piano.

Three ghosts, falling into her life – literally falling – making it seem like music was the easiest thing to make, like you just had to put out your thoughts and connect the dots, fill the empty spaces with a chord here and there. Like it was breathing, or walking, or smiling.

Julie loved them for it, and she loved them for other things, too.

For one thing, they gave her hope: it eased the finality of death a little. She was religious, believed in the afterlife, but the presence of boys once thought to be gone forever gave her more comfort than mere hopes and faith.

But more than that, they became her dear friends, connected by an invisible string of love for music and a pure want for creation. As time passed, she talked more and more about her mom with them too, finding new ears, new voices in return.

Reggie was an amazing listener, and fantastic at making her giggle like a little kid; Alex always knew the words of affirmation that would hit just right, soothe the aching spot in her soul that nobody before had quite discovered how to silence.

Luke, usually so vivacious, bouncing around with energy, could be a surprising voice of reason in such conversations. He had lost his parents as well, albeit his situation was a bit different. But he knew the pain of being unable to say the words you wish for the other to hear, had had ample time to think about it, how he would have changed it all, but also how things like these had a way of aligning themselves just right on their own.

He had seen his parents when they never though he’d be watching, saw their grief and understood it. But for Julie and her mother, he was the other side of the coin, the one not grieving, but grieved, lost.

So he’d tell her – he’d tell her he knew the things they had never told him, and her mother knew them, too. That it was just as difficult to leave as it was to be left, but more than anything, that her mother would have wanted more than anything for Julie to continue playing, singing. She wasn’t betraying her memory by doing so; she was honoring it.

And Julie believed him, a first in a long time, that she couldn’t do it all on her own, and she can go on breathing, singing, without letting the mom go. She wouldn’t forget how it all started, shouldn’t feel guilty for moving on. She realized she’d keep seeing Rose in the little things all around her, in the sunrays streaming through the garage window, in the rainbow they created on the piano keys, and that her mother smiled when Julie played.

They’d sit together, Luke and Julie, for a long, long time, just talking. And they’d both discover things they had never known, about the other, but about themselves, too.

She wished she could hug him, though, even more than usually in times like those, wished to feel the weight of his arm, the steady rise and fall of his empty breaths, feel even safer with the comfort that his skin on hers could bring.

Those were the nights she imagined how it would be if things were different before she fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perfect harmony fluff to balance out the absolute Pain Tm of the last one

_ Get me with those green eyes, baby, as the lights go down _

_ Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around _

_ 'Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile _

Green eyes, following her on stage. Green eyes, lighting up as they come up with the perfect lyric to finish a song. Green eyes, as if illuminated by starlight, every time they play.

Green eyes, stepping through a mirror.

It’s a dream, and she knows it, but she indulges in it anyway. Besides, it feels more than a dream somehow, almost like watching herself in a movie, or like stepping into an alternative universe, where the school gym is a beautiful ballroom with dimmed lights and the air smells of vanilla and possibility, where and when she rests her palms onto his hands, they do not pass through.

That’s how she knows this isn’t real, more than anything.

He’s singing, words she doesn’t recognize, a feeling that she does. A déjà vu from a different life.

The green eyes train on her as he leads her into a dance, sure of every step, every movement. He’s her Luke but also isn’t – more real and entirely fictional at the same time. His usually messy hair is swept up and aside, usual 90s grunge attire replaced by a white dress shirt and black pants, something she knows the real him wouldn’t be caught dead in.

He looks like prince Eric from the Little Mermaid, but underneath the layers, she sees the phantom, the garage-dwelling, rings-wearing Luke too, in she curve of his mouth as he smiles, the raise of his brow, inviting her, drawing her in – to dance, to cherish the somehow familiar feel of their hands fitting together, of his breath so close she can feel it fanning her eyelashes, the smell of honey and almonds and spice that she’s never sensed before, but knows instantly it’s right, it’s _him_ ; to let herself believe this is all true for a blink of an eye.

And she does.

(She distantly wonders what this means, that her greatest fantasy is dancing in a candle-lit room with a prince-Eric-Luke, threading with a golden string a song she’s been hiding deep in her heart for weeks now, a song that’s been waiting to come out. It _is_ pretty perfect, that much she can admit.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i reallyyy like this one  
> also cursing tw but it's only one word towards the end

_ My mind forgets to remind me _

_ You're a bad idea _

_ You touch me once and it's really something _

_ You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be _

_ I'm on my guard for the rest of the world _

_ But with you I know it's no good _

_ And I could wait patiently but I really wish you would _

She knows, logically, rationally, there’s nothing either of them can do about it, about the situation, about her being corporeal and him a ghost, her alive and him dead, about the 25 years of stillness between them. Yet, she daydreams, and night-dreams, and imagines; yet she writes songs and listens to his, and it’s a new kind of pain, to love someone so powerfully, and be loved powerfully in return, but still be unable to lay your head into the crook of their neck and rest for a minute.

Julie’s been through so much pain, too much pain. She’s lost her mother, she’s lost her best friend, she’s lost her music; she’s lost herself, and found herself all over, rising from the ashes, gasping up for air from the drowning. She’s built walls up high and torn them down again, letting through some light, and then some more. Letting through a brother’s joke, a father’s hug. Letting through Flynn’s crazy plans, one by one, Nick’s passing greetings, a single lullaby sung in the silence of her room.

A note on the piano. A fuchsia flower on her windowsill.

The sound of drums. The laughter following a prank.

A boy with big green eyes and a radiant spirit, guiding her back to herself.

She just wishes he could have held her hand on the way.

It’s unfair, that after everything, she can’t even have that. It’s unfair, and she hates it, hates the distance, the impossibility, this cruel, twisted game of life.

She knows the greatest love stories are the ones doomed from the start – Romeo and Juliet, Pyramus and Thisbe, Apollo and Hyacinthus; these are the ones epics are sung about, poems are written, tragedies are woven out of. But she doesn’t want a Great love Story, doesn’t want to be cursed, doesn’t want to be known. She is tired of chasing, and longing, and coming up short. She is tired of clutching on to thin air, of filling her lungs with desperate breaths, of tearing apart paper with a pencil and her pain.

Julie would exchange all the love songs, all the epics, for a moment of normalcy, for a brush of fingers, for getting to hold Luke and be held by him. She hates Romeo for being so foolish, hates Apollo for his boasting, but most of all, hates the _fucking wall_. It is not glorious, or romantic, or desirable, to die in one’s love’s arms, to give up, to leave with tears streaming down your face, and never get to kiss your love hello again. She doesn’t want to be Juliet, only wants to be Julie. Julie and Luke, simple and beautiful and right.

But it seems that in her life, nothing is ever simple, or beautiful, or right.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say it with me: writer's block

_ Drop everything now _

_ Meet me in the pouring rain _

_ Kiss me on the sidewalk _

_ Take away the pain _

_ 'Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile _

She wonders whether she made a mistake.

The guys have apologized numerous times, with words and puppy eyes and a choreographed dance routine accompanied by rehearsed harmonies. And she knows, she _knows_ they’re truly sorry, that it was a mistake, that it wouldn’t happen again. But she can’t shake the feeling that engrossed her up on that stage, all alone, reliving the last year all over again.

Julie’s progressed so much with her grief since the boys had appeared in the picture. It’s been delightful, liberating, exhilarating even, to feel the melody flow through her again, turn scattered thoughts into heart-wretching lyrics, feel that rightness that’s been escaping her grasp for months on end. But it was still fragile, a rose petal soaring with the wind, and all it took was one blow to crush it, to what she feared was beyond repair.

And it hurt; the feeling of betrayal, the hopelessness, the disappointment.

So she pushed them away.

But she wonders whether she made a mistake.

It’s lonely, sitting in a glass cage, from the outside looking in. It’s desperate, straining your throat against singing the notes.

It’s exhausting, protecting her heart from re-breaking.

Maybe a heart is a thing one cannot protect.

Maybe she should let them back in.

They helped her, and they’re sorry for standing her up; and if Julie’s completely honest with herself, it’s not the boys’ fault her heart has been shattered so many times, or rather, so powerfully. It’s not their fault she’s been frightened to let anyone in since her mom’s death, or that singing feels like utmost betrayal. It’s not their fault she’s so goddamn afraid all the time.

And, in the spirit of honesty, they did help her start mending herself together again.

She lays in her room, alone. Alone finally, alone again. And it feels … Lonely. It used to feel safe, like a sanctuary, hiding under the covers. Now, she feels like she’s missing out, missing _them_. She tasted living freely once more and she’s wants to go on.

But it hurts too much, and she’s terrified. Terrified of falling apart.

And then she sees him.

Tears falling down steadily, silently, like a metronome. Knees tucked in, a cake on his parents’ table. It’s Luke, but unlike any state she’s seen him in. Always so optimistic, always sunshine allegorized, a warm embrace, a thunderous rainstorm. It’s odd, seeing him like this.

Like her.

Julie looks, and thinks that perhaps, she isn’t the only one in the world.

She returns to the garage, and wonders whether he feels pain the same way she did, she _does_.

She sits down at the grand piano, and plays again, and realizes friends make mistakes, but they also forgive. And they help each other out, even if it’s scary, even if it gives you vertigo.

So by the time he returns, she’s ready. Ready to try again.

The moment he gives her that dazzling smile, she knows there wasn’t any other road she could have taken.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to angsty angst town. population: two idiots in love.

_ Get me with those green eyes, baby, as the lights go down _

_ Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around _

_ 'Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile _

They’re so close their breaths should be mixing. It’s the only reminder none of this is real, these are all just stolen moments dodging the inevitable, because she swears, she swears she can sense his presence in the air, but it’s quintessentially … lacking, something that should have been, but isn’t.

It’s unnatural, the way she can see can see golden specks dancing in his eyes, but her hair doesn’t move as he sings, how she could count his eyelashes one by one, yet is unable to catch the scent of another person existing so close to her.

Her mind is playing tricks on her, because when he scrunches his nose, smiling his dopey smile, she’s positive she could reach out and touch his face, but there’s no warmth where he’s hovering over her on the piano bench, it’s missing, it’s missing, he’s missing.

(How can someone be so far away when he’s right there? How is she supposed to believe they don’t even exist on the same plain of reality, as his voice blends with hers into what this song, _this life_ , was so clearly always supposed to be?

There’s a veil separating them, but she can feel it thinning by the second, every tone of the final verse of Edge Of Great as if melting away the glitch in their being – because it’s clearly a glitch, this isn’t how any of it was supposed to go, this isn’t what she imagined when her mother told her tales of great love stories –

How can she know his soul so intimately, every nook and corner of his mind revealed in lyrics they share, but something as simple as resting her hand in his feels like an impossible feat?)

(Because it is. Because there is a difference between wanting and having, between dreams and reality. Dreams, now matter how good, no matter how vivid, always have their limits.

You can’t change their course.

And they always end.)

But right now, under an LA sunset, Julie’s not thinking about ends. She isn’t thinking about beginnings, either. She’s thinking about middles instead.

Middles of eras, middles of lives, middles of love stories. Where you can’t remember a time before and won’t imagine a time after. Where all that exists is the clear green of his eyes and the intangible charge in the air and their lips close, close, closer.

Middles, where everything is right and good and sweetly normal, and every word makes sense, if only it is sung under the fading orange sky, piano softly thrumming in her fingers, in her mind, a grin she’s come to know so well softening into something _more_ when met and matched by her own smile, promising the lost things to be found into the eyes of a boy she loves.

Because she does love him, doesn’t she? 

She’s loved him for a while now. That was never the question.

The question was, _how is she going to survive when she wakes up?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be fluff. this was literally supposed to be fluff why do i do this to all of us. it's the piano scene. it's the goddamn piano scene and i ruined it with EMOTIONS


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is bad lol i cant get myself to write

_ I run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild _

_ Just keep on keeping your eyes on me _

_ It's just wrong enough to make it feel right _

_ And lead me up the staircase _

_ Won't you whisper soft and slow? _

_ I'm captivated by you, baby, like a firework show _

In a single moment, her world tilts off its axis.

In a single moment, the pieces of her heart realign themselves.

One second, she was crying, begging them to leave, to save themselves, and the next, she’s in Luke’s arms, a golden glow washing over the both of them.

He is there, his arms around her, his ridiculous suit rough on her cheek, his messy hair tickling the top of her head. He is there. He is real.

It seems too good, too good to be true.

She grabs his face desperately, like a girl drowning, like he is the only thing that could keep her from going under. Feeling, actually _feeling_ his jaw under her fingertips feels like coming home. There is no way this was possible. No way.

“How can I feel you?” she whispers, all hushed breaths of witnessing a miracle, almost as if the spell would break if she spoke to loudly, if she demanded an answer.

“I – I don’t know,” Luke responds, sounding as confused as she feels, but behind the confusion there is an unmistakable spark of gratefulness behind his eyes. Like he is finally exhaling after weeks, months of holding something in. Something like love. Her chest is so full it might burst.

When Julie was nine, long before her mother’s diagnosis, they spent the weekend of Carlos’ birthday at a theme park near LA. A smaller one, but filled with rollercoasters and Cottoncandy stands nonetheless; filled with the possibility of joy.

Carlos had been too short for most of the rides, sulking for a while before dragging Ray off to the laser shooting range, leaving Julie and Rose to spend the hour by themselves. Rose had always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and that was how Julie, barely tall enough to be let through, found herself strapped into a seat of the freefall ride, giddy with anticipation.

There was a mechanical voice, counting down from ten, and then, just when she started to second-guess her choice a tiny bit, it happened – the drop. 30 meters of air wheezing through by her ears, blowing her hair in all directions; adrenaline buzzing through her veins, making her feel goddamn invincible. It felt so singularly _good_ , like she could accomplish anything, like she could spread the ocean apart. She was one with the wind, and the power she felt made her dizzy.

For the longest time, she was convinced that was what falling in love felt like.

This was nothing like it.

Luke’s eyes are large and glassy, trained on hers with a painful focus, like he’s seeing her, really seeing her for the first time. He doesn’t know if she’s imagining the bright yellow light, or the warmth suddenly seeping through her fingers, filling her veins with something entirely foreign to adrenaline – calm, present, pulsing. Like sinking into warm water and standing in the morning sun at the same time. Like listening to that one specific song that makes her inexplicably happy, that permeates her ribcage with pounding jolts of power, but at the same time, paints the illusion of floating hundreds of meters off the ground, grabbing onto fistfuls of the clouds – times a thousand.

She doesn’t know what is happening, but she’s not questioning it, neither of them letting go.

It doesn’t matter why, or how, after all.

“Reggie, Alex, come.” She has barely enough common sense left to call the other two boys over, pull them into a hug. They straggle towards her and Luke, wrapping their arms around the both of them, fortifying the bubble of sunlight, making the studio brim with bright golden rays.

They’re alright. Her boys, her band – they’re all right. Or, they will be. She can save them. She can save them all.


End file.
